Somebody said that it couldn't be done,
But he with a chuckle replied
That maybe it couldn't, but he would be one
Who wouldn't say so 'till he tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried, he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn't be done, and he did it.

Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll never do that;
At least no one ever has done it;"
But he took off his coat and took off his hat
And the first thing he knew he'd begun it.
With the lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn't be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle right in with a bit of a grin,
Then take off your coat and go to it;
Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing
That "cannot be done," and you'll do it.

=====================

They said that it could not be done,
He said "Just let me try."
They said, "Other men have tried and failed,"
He answered, "But not I."
They said, "It is impossible,"
He said, "There's no such word."
He closed his mind, he closed his heart...
To everything he heard.

He said, "Within the heart of man,
There is a tiny seed.
It grows until it blossoms,
It's called the will to succeed.
Its roots are strength, its stem is hope,
Its petals inspiration,
Its thorns protect its strong green leaves,
With grim determination.

"Its stamens are its skills
Which help to shape each plan,
For there's nothing in the universe
Beyond the scope of man."
They thought that it could not be done,
Some even said they knew it,
But he faced up to what could not be done...
And he couldn't bloody do it!

================

"Quit! Give up! You're beaten!"
They shout at me and plead.
"There's just too much against you now;
This time you can't succeed!"

And as I start to hang my head
In front of failure's face,
My downward fall is broken by
The memory of a race

And hope refills my weakened will
As I recall that scene;
For just the thought of that short race
Rejuventates my being.

A children's race- young boy, young men,
How I remember well.
Excitement, sure! But also fear;
It wasn't hard to tell.

They all lined up so full of hope
Each thought to win that race.
Or tie for first, or if not that,
At least take second place.

And fathers watched from off the side
Each cheering for his son.
And each boy hoped to show his dad
That he would be the one.

The whistle blew and off they went
Young hearts and hopes afire.
To win and be the hero there
Was each young boy's desire

And one boy in particular
Whose dad was in the crowd
Was running near the lead and thought:
"My dad will be so proud!"

But as he speeded down the field
Across a shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win
Lost his step and slipped

Trying hard to catch himself "Quit! Give up! You're beaten!"
They shout at me and plead.
"There's just too much against you now;
This time you can't succeed!"

So down he fell and with him hope
-He couldn't win now-
Embarrassed, sad he only wished
To disappear somehow...

But as he fell his dad stood up
And showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said:
"Get up and win the race!"

He quickly rose, no damage done
-Behind a bit, that's all-
And ran with all his mind and might
To make up for his fall

So anxious to restore himself
-To catch up and to win-
His mind went faster than his legs;
He slipped and fell again!

He wished then he had quit before
With only one disgrace
"I'm hopeless as a runner now;
I shouldn't try to race."

But in the laughing crowd he searched
And found his father's face;
That steady look which said again:
"Get up and win the race!"

So he jumped up to try again
-Ten yards behind the last-
"If I'm to gain those yards," he thought,
"I've got to move real fast."

Exerting everything he had
He gained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead
He slipped and fell again!

Defeat! He lied there silently
-A tear dropped from his eye-
"There's no sense in running anymore:
Three strikes: I'm out! Why try?"

The will to rise had disappeared;
All hope had fled away;
So far behind, so error-prone:
A loser all the way.

"I've lost, so what's the use," he thought
"I'll live with my disgrace."
But then he thought about his dad
Who soon he'd have to face.

"Get up," an echo sounded low.
"Get up and take your place;
You were not meant for failure here.
Get up and win the race."

"With borrowed will get up," it said,
You haven't lost at all.
For winning is no more than this:
To rise each time you fall."

So up he rose to run once more,
And with new commit
He resolved that win or lose
At least he wouldn't quit/

So far behind the others now,
-The most he'd ever been-
Still he gave it all he had
And ran as though to win

Three times he'd fallen, stumbling;
Three times he rose again:
Too far behind to hope to win
He still ran to the end.

They cheered the winning runner
As he crossed the line first place.
Head high, and proud, and happy;
No falling, no disgrace.

But when the fallen youngster
Crossed the line last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer,
For finishing the race.

And even though he came in last
With head bowed low, unproud,
You would have thought he'd won the race
To listen to the crowd.

And to his dad he sadly said,
"I didn't do too well."
"To me, you won," his father said.
"You rose each time you fell."

And when things seem dark and hard
And difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy
Helps me in my race.

For all of life is like that race.
With ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win,
Is rise each time you fall.

"Quit! Give up, you're beaten!"
They still shout in my face.
But another voice within me says:
"GET UP AND WIN THE RACE!"

I am very interested in the background of the classical poets. It would be great if you could include some introduction or background histories to the poets. That will help us, the beginners to appreciate their works more.

An example is Tu Fu. No introduction on him, at all. Amatuer readers could not know who he is. But I know, fortunately. He is a Chinese classical poet. He is very famous in Chinese poetry.

I find this forum quite good. Just that it is a bit rudimentary, if I may say so.

Anyway, many thanks for the poems. As a show of my gratitute, ;o), I will find some non copyrighted translations of Chinese classical poems and repost them here.